Night Life
by NGTM-R
Summary: Because when your leader has had her brain altered by outside forces, eventually someone must ask the awkward question: What exactly did it do to her?
1. Night Life 1

Deploying the K-11 off the back of a truck this first time is a homage to BGC 2040, which I saw first of the various incarnations.

**Night Life 1**

"Stop the truck!"

"It's another three and a half bloc-"

"Stop the goddamn truck!" _Rookies. _Bad enough the maintenance team hadn't managed to get the suit jets working, but at least the ADPolice's first K-11 deployment was going to happen anyways. "You don't get up in their faces, okay? Dismounting." A brief pause while he got off the truck. "Scoot." They needed to come up with a safe way to dismount from a ground vehicle on the move, but the weight distribution change made the truck driver's life impossible. "McNichol, this is K-11-2, I'm a block behind you."

Leon McNichol would have given thanks to a deity at that moment had he been particularly religious. "We dropped one but the other's just about run us dry on ammo. Put this thing down as hard as you can."

"As ordered." There was a roar from somewhere overhead and behind. That would be his competitors in the hardsuits coming, but they weren't here yet. And his professional pride wouldn't let him just sit back and let the Knight Sabers handle it.

Bring the gun up. Clear shot, open fire. The boomer's not a combat model, no ranged weapons and thank god for that, but the industrial applications type could do a lot of damage with bare hands. It charged but stumbled under the barrage, and it had to go three blocks to get to him anyways. Glory be, it was dumb enough to stand out in the street and let him tear it apart at distance.

The left and right hands were first to go, flying off amid clouds of shrapnel. They were the weakest joints. The Boomer's left knee seized up next, but didn't break. Then the right arm came off at shoulder. The K-11's weapon went _click _two rounds later, leaving the boomer a block closer, crippled, but still very much active.

_Sonofa-_ He had been warned, repeatedly, about the ability of a berserked boomer to withstand damage beyond what it seemingly had any right to, but absorbing a full two hundred and fifty rounds of 12.7mm and still being standing? "McNichol, I just ran dry, reloading. If you guys have to finish this on your own," get back, stay away from it even if it's crippled, the damn thing can still probably punch straight through your armor and if you let it near you you're dead, "tell the ordnance guys we need to switch to tungsten or DU twelve-point-seven because the regular load isn't cutting it."

The ladies in the hardsuits stepped in and took over, because reloading took too long. One more thing he'd note in the AARs if he lived long enough.

It was, however, nice of them not to wander into his field of fire while he was shooting. It would be a shame to accidentally injure one of them, considering their skills.


	2. Night Life 2

"If you encounter the Knight Sabers, I want you to bring them in. By force if necessary."

"That a direct order, Chief?" the suit with K-11-2 painted at the collar said.

"It is."

"Then, sir, I directly refuse it. I don't mind dying, but only for a purpose." The chief turned towards the second K-11, K-11-32, but he shook his head. The third one shook her head. It went on down the line for all six of them, the four on the ready response team and the two home guards.

There was a long silence. The Chief appeared to be counting to ten. Then: "I'll have your badges for this."

K-11-2 laughed at the threat. "Now," he said amusedly, "me you might actually get at. But firing junior drivers for refusing to do something the senior and most experienced K-11 operator on the force regarded as suicidal? Try peddling that to the police union and they'll leave you spattered over the inside of every courtroom between here and Hokkaido. By your leave, sir." He turned to the other K-11s before actually receiving any reply. "Mount up."

A calculated insult to the chain of command. One he could afford, having just been posted to training and administrative leadership of the armored trooper teams. He was the highest-ranked member of the first ten armored trooper pilots the ADP had brought in still alive.

Of course, there were only two of them left, himself and K-11-8. The second batch hadn't fared as well. They'd lost one their first week, which was how the first batch had gone, and the remaining nine had all died in a single night the next week, trying to stop a pair of combat boomers, BU-12s,

The Knight Sabers had then stomped all over the two BU-12s.

And the Chief wanted them to try and bring the Knight Sabers in? Nine good men and women had died holding the line against things that didn't make the Knight Sabers break a sweat, and he had only three with him. They wouldn't even last long enough to hold the line for more ADP to arrive and complete the job, they'd just go "squish". And they'd play Amazing Grace at his funeral, on bagpipes, because that was what you did for the US-descended officers on the force. His casket, however, would be empty, because there wasn't enough of him left to bury.

Fuck the Chief. Yes, it was pressure from above, probably all the way up through the Mayor and on to Genom. But a good leader should have known better than to pass on that order.


	3. Night Life 3

Breathe in. Breathe out. _Calm._

Damn this suit. One of his buddies died in a K-11 yesterday, the other pilot of the old school. K-11-8, he wasn't the smartest or quickest of them, but he'd been lucky, and luck will get you far. It eventually ran out, and a boomer's fusion ability got K-11-8. They said in six months, maybe a year, the suits might have something that can avoid that. Six months or a year too late. "Chief's word?"

"Still not coming," the technician replied.

"If McNichol gets killed because the Chief was slow on the authorization, we're going to have a revolt." Leon was one of the ADP's best, but he was also regarded as a sort of good-luck charm by the department. He had looked rampaging boomers in the face so many times and lived he _had_ to have something more than skill going for him.

And of course they'd have a revolt. They'd always have a revolt. They were the ADPolice. They served a very important role, critical to public safety, and they were forced to do it very badly by those in charge. Always halfway between a group never meant to win and the knowledge they were an elite, between total collapse and the highest morale. Confused and pissed off was their normal state. One of these days something would set off the bomb that was the ADP.

K-11-2 shook off that thought. It wasn't something that could be fixed, yet, perhaps ever. He looked up at the other three K-11s in the deployment plane's bay, armed and ready to rumble: K-11-32, K-11-41, and K-11-42. "Remember: you dictate the range and shoot the Boomers to pieces. You _do not_ let them close to you, or they will kill you." He was alive and everyone else from the first and second groups wasn't, so his words carried weight.

"What about the Knight Sabers?" K-11-41 asked.

_Rookies._ "Don't fuck with them. Don't even think about it. If you manage to provoke them into a fight then you will make our job infinitely more difficult. And then between the hundred-odd people in the department who've been saved by the Knight Sabers you will find yourself socially outcast and doing beat cop work in the Fault faster than you'd think possible." A pause. "Assuming you survive that fight. I don't give it good odds."

"If I can interrupt, we've got the green light," the tech said.

One never learned to really _enjoy_ jumping an armored trooper out of a perfectly good aircraft, but the parachutes and the semi-flight gear at least made it safe. Below, the city at night; almost beautiful, until you spotted the tracers and explosions of a boomer rampage in progress.


	4. Night Life 4

Five coffins. No flags draped over them; besides, what flags? Some of the officers buried tonight weren't yet naturalized citizens. No speeches. ADP officers dying has become too routine for people to care that much. And neither flags nor speeches were in the budget, nor was a salute, nor even live music. Yet another set of things in the long list of what the ADP was doing wrong because they didn't have the money to do it right.

But there was a crowd, and they did mostly wear uniforms.

Two of the coffins were empty. Patrolman Ishikawa and a new kid whose name he'd never known. A C-type Boomer's laser had killed them both. There was literally nothing left of Ishikawa that they could actually identify as Ishikawa; some scraps of a pair of ADP-issue shoes, the remains of his rifle. The new kid they had found an arm and a leg.

Sometimes, K-11-2 wonders how the foot cops ever manage to hold it together. It's true, in absolute terms, that their casualty percentages are lower than those of the armored trooper pilots. But the AT people rarely have to bury more than one or two of their own. The foot cops bury at least three of their own a week, more often five or six. Going after boomers with nothing more than an assault rifle, a bulletproof vest, and solid steel gonads has a high price.

Perhaps they shouldn't hold public funerals like this. It would mean they didn't have time to dwell on their losses. There were military units engaged in active combat that didn't suffer as badly as the ADPolice did in the day-to-day grind of stopping and investigating boomer crime.

_At least the death benefits are good._ Fatalism will get you far, K-11-2 thought sardonically, and avoided speaking with Ishikawa's parents and girlfriend while noting that the new kid's family was apparently too far away to make it to his funeral, if he'd had family. What are you supposed to say to the grieving parents, anyways? Words can't make this right. They can't even make it better.

You can't tell his parents those responsible aren't going to get away. A C-type boomer gone rogue, no frame numbers to pull; no parts which can be traced. The number of people who could have assembled such a machine was, of course, very small. But all of them were major corporations and had the ability to fight back against search warrants and other tools of gathering the necessary evidence to find those responsible for putting it on the street. Whoever made that boomer was literally getting away with murder.

He felt about how Leon looked; out of place and uncomfortable in formal uniform. The black bodysuit he wore along with his K-11, that was uniform. This was...something else, something meant for show. The only thing meant for show about this whole farce. Unless you counted the existence of the ADP itself, and K-11-2 was not quite ready to concede that point.

_One of these days we aren't going to have to bury someone. I swear it.  
><em>


	5. Night Life 5

**Night Life 5**

The AT bays at headquarters were quiet. It was a rarity, as usually there were things to be fixed or checked, armored troopers being armed for duty. But it did sometimes happen, when things were quiet for awhile, when there weren't dead pilots to be cut out of their suits.

_I'm getting too cynical for this._ K-11-2 thought it, and was cynical as he did so because he knew it wasn't true. To anyone who watched it seemed a simple unannounced inspection, the section leader poking and prodding the suits as he went past, checking their readiness.

To K-11-2, it was more akin to prayer. It had the same meditative qualities, the same silent beseeching. As he walked past each suit, between the usual checking of armor plates, the tugging on the weapons, the examining of the visor, there was a moment where he would silently place a hand on its breastplate and ask it to bring its wearer back alive.

It almost certainly didn't help. But he was out of other things that might. He'd upset the Chief by consistently going over the training time allotments and the budget for it. He'd begged, borrowed, stolen, and chicaned his way into as much better gear as he could get his hands on; twenty-millimeter military issue cannon, tungsten rounds, spare parts and electronics packages that weren't in the budget. He barely spent an hour a day on activities that did not directly relate to commanding the K-11 team, and that much because he knew if he did less then it was likely the psych types would decide he'd gone off the deep end.

Responsibilty weighed heavily on him. They thought he could teach them enough to survive. K-11-2 wasn't sure he had anything to teach. His survival was based on his instincts, not on something he could explain to others. But he had to teach them anyways, and hope his teaching was enough that some of them would make it.

K-11-32's suit. Hand against the breastplate. _I don't have many friends left. Bring him back._ K-11-44's suit. Hand against the breastplate. _He's a good kid. Excitable, but smart. Be good to him. Bring him back._ K-11-48's suit. _She's a mother. Her kids need her. Bring her back._ K-11-50's suit. _She's still young, full of fire. She thinks she can save everyone. Bring her back. _And so on for all fifteen suits.

His own, however, only received such a benediction when he wore it. Convenience, perhaps. Or perhaps he simply felt it needed to be invoked a little more often then these rare moments. He had the chance to do this once a month, if that. He deployed several times a week, sometimes as many as five. If this by chance happened to do any good, he wanted all the good he could get out of it for those deployments.


	6. Fire Night

**Fire Night**

"The liquid natural gas storage facility by the docks." So they'd be operating around several thousand tons of highly flammable, highly explosive natural gas. There were muttered expletives over the armored trooper team's channel. _Pucker factor,_ K-11-2 reflected grimly. As if being out fighting boomers in an armored trooper wasn't enough to make you clench.

"I want well-aimed, controlled fire people." K-11-2 said. He thought about adding something, but the consequences were pretty clear already. "Stand by to drop."

They dropped into darkness. "McNichol, what gives?"

"Power's cut. Boomers rampaged through the substation before we got here. One of them got a little screwed up in the process and we popped him, but there are eight more at least. All of them are 55Cs." Leon replied over the radio. "Evacuation's out to a block so far."

K-11-2 popped his chute . "You thinking it's legit?" The ADP wasn't the best-paid bunch in Megatokyo. That didn't make them stupid. After-action reports, examination of dead boomers, analysis of attack patterns, all of that had indicated that boomer attacks fell into two categories. Some of them were genuine rampages, undirected and generally messy. Some were too directed, too controlled, and most of all too coordinated, with Boomers ganging up on response forces and employing tactics.

Those were the ones that weren't legit. K-11-2 could almost hear the shake of Leon's head. "If it were legit we would have popped more than one."

K-11-2 blew the explosive bolts that held his parachute on when he saw flashes of weapons fire in a nearby building. A rough landing on jets was better than getting blown away hanging from your 'chute. He touched down two seconds later, suit jets flaring.

Something came flying through the wall ahead of him, on a perpendicular course to his line of fire. He tracked it with his weapon, but it was obvious the flight was uncontrolled so he didn't bother firing.

A green hardsuit. His weapon snapped back to the hole in the wall and he opened fire before the boomer even showed itself. "Two is engaged." A moment later his shots began hitting the boomer as it came after the hardsuit.

"Four-Four, should I move to support?"

"Negative." The green hardsuit was definitely Saber Green, but she wasn't getting up. The boomer paused, torn between a high-priority target and a high-threat target. That cost it badly as K-11-2 had a moment to tighten his shot grouping and batter the Boomer's head to pieces. "Two is clear."

"Two, Four-Eight, the boomers have started a fire by the docks."

_Oh fuck._ "Clear out. Four-Four, get to work on evacing buildings. We don't have much time."

"Two, you're not coming with?"

"I'm going to see about what kind of safety measures I can trigger." _And I can't exactly leave a Knight Saber here to fry._

He approached the green hardsuit at a run, his external speakers clicking on. "Saber Green, if you can move you need to do it." No response. _Dammit._ He reached down, carefully, and lifted the hardsuit. It was much smaller than his K-11, and surprisingly light. The total of suit and wearer couldn't be more than a hundred and fifty kilos, probably less. A K-11 suit weighed slightly more than half a ton, and easily lifted such a light weight.

He turned, holding the hardsuit gingerly in one of his own suit's hands, noting that it appeared to be locked up; it didn't dangle limply. Well, that was probably good. Back towards the control building, and surveyed the hole in the wall. Still had power inside, backup generator of some sort. Probably safety measures he could trigger. "McNichol, have you got the yard engineers handy?"

* * *

><p>Linna Yamazaki came to quickly. Tried to move. Found she couldn't. At the same time she realized she was looking at the ground from a distance of at least a meter.<p>

"Linna!" Nene's voice.

"Here." Linna replied tersely, more than a little stressed out trying to figure out what was happening to her.

"What's going on? Your suit's telemetry isn't working." Sylia, this time.

"I honestly have no idea." Linna replied. "I blacked out for a moment. Hardsuit is non-responsive. Diagnostics are non-responsive. Joints are locked." She glanced towards the blue leg next to her. "There's an ADP armored trooper here. Must have killed the boomer I was fighting. I think he's trying to get me clear."

"Keep broadcasting. We'll triangulate and home in." Sylia replied. She looked towards Nene. "And get me the ADP frequency, I want to hear what the armored trooper's saying."

* * *

><p>Safety measures in place. Hopefully it was enough. K-11-2 turned and then immediately threw himself behind a concrete dividing wall at the faint infrared traces down the hall leading to this room. Weapons, cannon and laser, blasted into the wall.<p>

"Two is engaged. At least two of them." He killed his transmission and used his speakers. "Sorry Saber Green, this might get a bit rough."

"Four-Four, move to support?"

K-11-2 switched transmission back on. "Negative, keep moving. Safety measures don't necessarily work."

* * *

><p>"That's him." Linna said. "Two is him."<p>

Priss snorted at the obvious professionalism in the ADP's communications, but now was not the time to actually comment and even she knew it.

* * *

><p>The military-issue 20mm kicked harder than the ADP's K-11 was programmed to deal with, requiring the pilot to actively manage the recoil. The heavier round and higher muzzle velocity were more than adequate compensation, actually able to pierce the armor of a combat boomer at short ranges. K-11-2 demonstrated this by blasting a tight cluster of holes in one of the attacking boomers, knocking out its power system. The other was much too close and there was no way he'd get the gun around in time.<p>

K-11-2 hit his suit jets out of desperation, trying for a leap back in a room that wasn't quite high-ceilinged enough to allow it, counting on the fact that most corporate space has a false ceiling to hide the ductwork and the like. Ceiling tiles flew everywhere, fluorescent lighting shattered, and the K-11's head broke at least one sprinkler line. The landing wasn't steady and there was a ringing in his ears from hitting the pipe, but he'd bought a precious two and a half meters to blow the boomer's head clean off even as it tried to employ its mouth laser against him.

"Two is clear. How's the fire?"

"Burning the wrong way so far-" The transmission cut off in an earhurting squeal. Jamming, his suit's comm had squelched the noise a moment later.

"Shit." K-11-2 muttered. _Not good_.

Moments later Liquid Natural Gas Tank Number Three, about two hundred meters off, exploded.

* * *

><p>"Saber Green. Can you hear me?"<p>

Linna opened her eyes a second time and beheld a blasted, flaming cityscape. For a moment, she thought that she had died, and this was hell. _But they wouldn't call me Saber Green in hell._ She could move now, a little. The arms and the head appeared to have come unstuck. Next to her knelt a scorched but otherwise intact K-11 suit. On her radio was only the static of the jamming. "I can." The speakers and their deliberate distortion still worked.

"Can you move?" The K-11 asked.

"Legs are stuck." Linna replied. "Might be able to crawl."

"Not good enough. I'll piggyback you out."

Linna almost snorted. "So the ADP can arrest me?"

"You got an external temp gauge?" K-11-2 asked. "It's over a hundred and fifty degrees and getting hotter. There's the mother of all natural gas fires barely a hundred meters from here in two directions. You stay here, your suit's environmentals get overwhelmed or you run out of power, and you cook like an oven."

Linna broke out in a sweat, and it wasn't the heat. Sylia hadn't built the hardsuits to military spec, because there were things the military needed that the Knight Sabers didn't. Like heavy-duty cooling or heating for extreme climates. He was right. Unless she moved she was going to die. "All right."

The K-11 offered a shoulder and she took hold of it. "Watch our backtrail. There might still be boomers around here and I'd like us to live to tell," K-11-2 warned.

"Got it." Linna replied. It made her feel a tiny bit better that the K-11 pilot was not being dismissive, and allowed her at least the illusion of some control over her own fate. Maybe it was even real, too.

* * *

><p>Sylia bounced an armored fist off the side of the transport truck. Her suit wasn't currently powered, though, so she didn't damage anything. "Mackie, tell me there's been some word."<p>

"Nothing on ADP channels," Mackie replied. "The jamming is playing hell with it though, everyone's communicating through land lines. I'd know more if we were at base."

"How long the on the recharge?" Worry about the things you can change.

"Fifteen minutes to get Nene to full charge, thirty for whoever's next. I have satellite footage of the dock area-" Mackie's voice abruptly stopped. "Sis. It's bad. You remember the Nagasaki pictures?"

Priss and Nene were mercifully silent. "Yes." Sylia didn't want to hear more, but she knew she had to.

"It's like that. But on fire." Mackie's voice had dropped to a whisper.

* * *

><p>Linna was beginning to wonder if it was possible to go to hell <em>without<em> dying. That would have explained much. Their trip across the blasted urban landscape was conducted in silence. It was quick at first, and Linna thought the K-11 pilot was trying to stay ahead of the flames. Now it had slowed, become more cautious.

There was a soft "son of a bitch" and Linna glanced forward again. ADP, foot types. Dead. Linna was struck by the fact she'd become inured to seeing dead ADP officers so much that she didn't give them a second thought. To the K-11 pilot, these were people. Maybe even friends. Linna silently cursed herself for being callous while the K-11 made it's way over and took their rifles and ammo, slinging them around his suit's head.

"What's that for?" Linna wasn't sure why he'd take them when he had a weapon already.

"I don't have an infinite amount of ammo. There should have been a truck here with reloads. They must have been able to get out when things went to hell." There was a muttered comment her hardsuit's damaged mics didn't pick up clearly.

K-11-2 was swearing bloody vengeance on whoever had left these two poor bastards here, whether they'd been dead when they were left or not. Being tight-knit was all the ADP had when it came to offering something unique, and so they took it deadly serious. No officer would willingly leave behind another officer.

Linna spotted movement. "Dead rear, two hundred meters."

K-11-2 swung around and raised his weapon. Two hundred meters. Good optics, good eyes, on that girl. He saw it too. A form, semi-human, emerging from a building. Two hundred meters was more than enough room to blast it before it got close. He edged towards a building regardless, in case he needed cover himself. "This might get-"

"A little rough. I remember." Linna was worried. Her hardsuit was running on emergency batteries, she'd been able to determine that much. She hadn't been very active moving or the like, and she'd turned off a number of non-essential systems so her power reserves were going to last awhile. But it wasn't infinite. "There's a chance my suit's going to run out of power soon."

"That would complete the evening's going to shit." The K-11 pilot's sardonic comment was surprisingly appropriate to how Linna felt. "I know that thing's pretty light from when I picked you up the first time. Can you still move with the power off?"

"For a while, but not well."

* * *

><p>"Goddammit Chief we have people still in there!" Leon McNichol had a cut on his face that was still bleeding. He looked rather insane because of it, and because he was only a few moments from beating the hell out of his superior officer. Daley restrained him with a hand on the shoulder.<p>

"I know that! But it's not safe. We'd have to send in armored troopers if we sent in anyone and the fire department needs their help building firebreaks so the whole damn city doesn't burn down. Now stand down, Inspector."

* * *

><p>"Priss, no buts. The whole city is going to hell and the fires might beat the fire department. I need Nene's suit and its extra sensor gear with me. Go with Mackie." Sylia's voice had taken on the hard edge that even Priss was reluctant to argue with. If the fires swept over one of the Knight Saber's hideaways, someone had to make sure it was empty first. That meant using a hardsuit to do the heavy lifting of packing stuff away.<p>

And there was no way Sylia was leaving Linna out there. She was going to find her, fires or no fires.

* * *

><p>"How many?" Linna asked.<p>

"Can't get a good count. Four combat types, some others. Which means someone blew the initial count or the local service boomer population isn't taking the disaster well." They hadn't known each other long, but they were working well together all things considered. The K-11 pilot clearly respected her, which almost had her laughing. The first man she'd ever met who she thought really respected her, and they'd never see each other's faces. The sheer disgusting bitter irony of it all, Linna reflected, and cradled one of the assault rifles close. Without being able to move her legs, her usual means of fighting boomers didn't work. On backup power, her lasers would have just left her helpless after a couple of shots.

The 20mm cannon K-11-2 carried spat a dozen rounds at a combat boomer, which took about half of them in the torso and right arm. The resulting explosion of several rounds in an ammo feed for the boomer's arm weapon tore the arm off and took a chunk out of the torso, but it got back up. K-11-2 resisted the urge to shake his head. If he ran out of 20mm ammo and there were still combat boomers around, they were screwed.

Linna dragged herself forward with one arm, grabbing what was left of the concrete wall they were using for cover, and started looking for things that she could hurt with the rifle.

* * *

><p>"I've got a locator beacon." Nene said softly. "I think. Stupid jamm-"<p>

"Now is not the time." Sylia replied. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Linna swore aloud as a combat boomer, the last combat boomer, bounced several rounds off her armor, but didn't stop her effort to kill the waitress model that had delusions of posing a threat. At her feet was a small pile of expended cartridges from the rifle, the result of several minutes of fighting.<p>

K-11-2 shot the combat boomer, twenty rounds, all he had left for the twenty millimeter. It was enough, and the combat model came apart in a most satisfying manner. "Still with me?"

"Yes." Linna replied, terse and controlled, a brief burst from the rifle she was holding tearing the head off the waitress boomer.

A note of grim humor entered K-11-2's voice. "Good, because one of those laser shots fuzed this suit's left knee joint, so I can't run or manage a landing from a jump. And," he tossed the 20mm on the ground and tore his rifle's shoulder sling pulling it to a ready position from where it hung around his suit's head, the human-sized weapon looking like a toy in the K-11's hands, "I'm out of twenty ammo."

Linna almost laughed. She would have never thought she was susceptible to black humor, but she was rather enjoying this K-11 pilot's take on it. "But your trigger finger still works."

"Small mercies." K-11-2 heard jump jets behind him and turned. There was little he could do to a Boomer with jump jets right now, but damned if he was going to go down in any fashion besides guns blazing. Not a boomer. Two Knight Saber hardsuits. "Your friends are here."

At the same moment the jamming died away.

* * *

><p>"Linna." Sylia said over the radio.<p>

"Here. Still not really mobile, legs still don't work." Linna replied. "But I've made a friend, so it wasn't that bad."

Sylia looked to the K-11, which had gone back watching for boomers. A cool one, this ADP pilot. She hit the speakers. "You seem to be doing reasonably well for yourself."

Her reply from the K-11 was a derisive snort. "Sure. Practically in paradise. If you're asking permission to take your friend and go, we both know you don't need it." A pause. "Though Saber Green, I'd ask a favor." The K-11 shot another waitress boomer to pieces with its borrowed rifle at a hundred meters and made to swap mags.

Sylia blinked under her helmet. Not a bad display there. She and Linna could have managed to both talk and target like that with an unfamiliar weapon, Priss...maybe, but Nene would never have managed it. Linna didn't consult with Sylia before answering, though, which got Sylia's attention again. "What do you need?"

"The rifle you've got? Fire it at the back of my head. It won't do anything serious, but I need an excuse to say my black box is broken so the chief doesn't fire my ass for doing my job and saving lives, even Knight Saber lives." K-11-2 said it matter-of-fact. He had faith in his suit, a rare thing for an ADP officer. Then again, he was the only one with reason to have faith in the K-11.

Linna took aim and fired a short burst, then tossed the rifle on the ground. The K-11 rocked just enough to be perceptible at the hit. The pilot waved his free hand. "How long do you need to get clear before I can pop my locator beacon?"

Sylia stared at the suit's back. "Why this much trouble?"

"Because I'm an ADP officer and you're the goddamn Knight Sabers. Who do you suppose is more useful to the city overall?" K-11-2 replied.

Linna almost giggled. This K-11 pilot reminded her vaguely of Priss, same sort of thought process and manner of speech, but without the self-centered hostility. Then she felt sick. She was actually going to _miss_ a man, and...unfair didn't even begin to describe this situation.

For the first time in her life she regretted being a Knight Saber as Sylia said "Two minutes." and the other two Knight Sabers lifted Linna by the arms to carry her to safety.

* * *

><p>"LEON!" Daley was agitated, in itself a rather rare thing. "We've got an armored trooper locator beacon from inside the fire area."<p>

Leon grinned fiercely. "Knew they couldn't kill him. Bastard leads a charmed life." He turned back towards the man he was conversing with, an armored trooper transport pilot. "I have a man down out there and he needs help. Get this bird in the air in the next two minutes or you have my word I'll shoot you and find somebody who will."


	7. Retirement

For the curious, I actually wrote out something Leon could have said to keep K-11-2 on the job...but it didn't sound like something Leon would actually say.

**Retirement**

"Hey man, that was good work last night." Leon said, nodding to K-11-2. "You pulled it off. Three combat boomers and we still had a perfect deployment, no injuries, no deaths, clean takedown. You barely even scratched the buildings."

K-11-2 smiled, but it was not the smile Leon had been expecting. Most people thought being a legend in their own time was at least marginally cool, and K-11-2's work on the night of the fire and tonight had made him a departmental legend and gotten him noticed by the press too. But K-11-2's smile was melancholy. "I'm thinking about resigning, McNichol, with the K-12S coming in."

Leon stared for a moment, not sure what to do. "Why?"

"Because the K-12S is coming in. It's heavier and the jets aren't as powerful, so it's less mobile. The guns are shorter-barreled, meaning you have to be closer to the target for accurate fire. I've been asking for, _demanding_, more responsive and more mobile armored troopers since I started this job. The Chief ignored every report I ever wrote. The K-12S still isn't tough enough to stand up to the worst stuff that gets thrown at us, and the fusion ability doesn't matter if we don't get close." K-11-2 was still less animated than normal, even angry. A bad sign, Leon knew. The man wouldn't have been the first ADP officer to simply burn out. "The first K-12S deployment will kill the whole team, because they couldn't jump the hell out of the way when they got charged by a Fifty-Five. It doesn't have to fuze with them, those bastards can tear you limb from limb. To say nothing of what happens when they get lased in the face."

_If he goes now..._ Best to just say it. Leon wasn't a subtle man and he didn't do subtle well. "If you leave, the armored trooper unit will fold. Total morale collapse. Total disciplinary collapse. After the fire and pulling off seven Fifty-Five kills on a basic ammo load, plus you pulling off the perfect deployment last night...do you have any idea what a disaster area this place is going to end up as when you quit it protest? You're a lot of people's hero around here, man."

There was a definite note of sadness in K-11-2's voice, but also sardonic humor. "If I die, they fall apart harder. And I'm dead." His tone softened. "McNichol, I'm still alive because I'm very good at seeing the danger coming and getting out of the way. That's it. I wasn't smarter or faster or luckier than any of the folks we've lost. What I did have was sharper eyes and more paranoia, to see the danger coming and get out of the way." A shrug, almost helpless. "There's danger coming. I'm getting out the way."

* * *

><p>The four K-12S over in the corner were being painted when K-11-2 came in. He was tempted to give them a long, hard glare, but it wasn't like the new armored troopers would notice so he didn't bother. Instead he made his way over to his suit.<p>

They hadn't repainted it yet since the fire, too busy assembling the replacements. Only the left knee gleamed with ADP blue since they'd had to replace it. Most of the rest showed various degrees of scorching. He rested a hand against a patch of darkened blue on the breastplate. _You're a good suit. I know the new ones are more advanced and everyone thinks they're better, but you're a good suit, and you've done more than they ever will with less help. You saved a lot of lives, including mine. Thank you. _He owed the suit that much, at least.

"They're going to put her out front." One of the techs. "They were all scheduled to be scrapped, at first, but we talked them into saving yours. Monument, you know? Something to show people we're on the side of the angels." Something that was getting increasingly necessary, unfortunately. They didn't need the press crapping on them too. "We're going to put a plaque on it. Service record."

K-11-2 looked up at the tech. Alica, he thought. "Don't. Names. Everyone who died in a K-11. And paint the names of the people we saved on the suit."

Alica nodded. "You got it, boss." Boss. Funny how they'd started calling him that. McNichol was right about one thing: here in the armored trooper areas, he was regarded as a hero, and if he resigned or retired in protest, there would be hell to pay. It was funny. He hadn't ever really thought about how much power he actually wielded in the ADP now on account of both his administrative control of the armored troopers and his service record. Somehow he'd become a key part of the institution without noticing, simply by surviving the last couple of years.

Like Leon and Daley. Everyone thought he was bulletproof because nobody had put a bullet in him yet. But K-11-2 held no illusions about his being bulletproof in reality. He'd seen too many people wearing identical armor die for that.

* * *

><p>For the first time since his hiring, he left ADP headquarters and he wasn't wearing a uniform. Daley was there on the steps too, and they exchanged a friendly nod as they went their separate ways. Both would have been surprised to know the other was sad to see them go. Daley hadn't talked much to K-11-2 and K-11-2 hadn't talked much to Daley over their time in the ADP, but they both considered the other to be an effective operator and a good man.<p>

Only for K-11-2 to meet up with someone on the sidewalk almost at once. "Miss Kate Madigan."

If Kate Madigan was annoyed to be addressed so directly, she did not show it. "Officer. A moment of your time?"

"If I were still an officer this would be highly irregular. And you know I'm not. What can I do for you, Miss Madigan?" K-11-2 asked.

If the man was intimidated at all by the presence of her two boomer bodyguards, and K-11-2 certainly had enough experience with such things to recognize them as disguised boomers rather than human bodyguards, he didn't show it. Madigan mentally shrugged. She'd always liked them cool, as going to pieces and rage could both be equally useless. "I have a job offer for you. Direct from the Chairman of Genom."

His eyes should have widened. He should have showed some sign of surprise. Instead he looked tired. "Entailing?"

"A director-level position at Genom. You would be a special consultant on the design and testing of combat boomers and military equipment designed to combat them." She tilted her head slightly to one side. "Your particular experience would be quite valuable. And you would be compensated accordingly."

K-11-2 had assumed a classic parade rest position, hands behind him, and appeared to be listening with only mild interest. Madigan was somewhat annoyed now. She was offering him an impressive leap in pay and benefits, the chance to play with very impressive toys. Many people would kill to be a Genom director. Some, herself included, actually had.

"Miss Madigan, your offer is most generous and intriguing, but I must respectfully decline. Please convey my deepest regrets to the Chairman." He did address her with a formality and respect she felt was...sufficient. "I sincerely doubt that in my current state I would be much use to you, Miss Madigan."

Kate Madigan tilted her head slightly. "Perhaps a small consulting fee, for a written report?"

K-11-2 shook his head. "I will save you the money. One of the first rules of combat is that anything which is caught in the open by a competent opponent will die. This rule is so dangerous because there will be times where there is no alternative but to go into the open. There is nothing wrong with your company's products, Miss Madigan. The nature of combat is such that you cannot be effective without taking risks. My gift was for being there when others did."

* * *

><p>"He refused. He cited his psychological state and said he was out of the job market for a minimum of six months." Kate Madigan was actually quite tense. It had been a long time since someone had told Quincy "no" when he asked something of them, even at a distance. She was not sure how the Chairman would react.<p>

Qunicy smiled. "A pity. He would have been most helpful."

"Shall I arrange other persuasion, sir?" Madigan asked. Genom controlled many things.

"No." Quincy shook his head. "Have the media interface types draft a press release. Genom deplores the loss of such a fine officer to the ADP, and regrets that he felt it necessary to resign in protest of the decisions of his superiors. Emphasize his skill and be sure to paint the ADP's leadership in the worst light possible. Ensure that we make it clear we appreciate the work he has done protecting the citizens of this fine city, many of whom are our employees after all."

One way or another, Genom always found a way to profit.


	8. Three Years Later

Crash can be assumed not to have happened, primarily because I haven't seen it rather than because I don't like it.

**Three Years Later**

Fire Night Anniversary. It was a party night for the citizens of Megatokyo, who would take pretty much any excuse to party in a city that wasn't doing well with increased boomer rampages and rising costs as Genom explored how hard it could squeeze. And squeeze it had.

And as she had for the last three years, Linna Yamazaki spent the night at the Hot Legs, nursing a single drink for hours and swearing about her boyfriend troubles. She'd never been talkative about what had happened on Fire Night, but the other Knight Sabers had deduced the memory carried several gradations of pain for her, some of them physical and some not.

They just didn't know why, except possibly Sylia.

"And where were you on Fire Night?" Priss asked from the stage, a new song. It was Megatokyo shorthand. If you said "Fire Night" to a resident, they would instantly assume you meant the night of the G&B Natural Gas fire, as though there had never been any other fire on any other night in the city.

"Meeting the only man I ever gave a damn about." Linna muttered. She was slightly tipsy, perhaps, but she never got drunk. She was afraid, as she'd always been, of what might be said when she was drunk. Things that should not be said, things about the Knight Sabers.

Leon and Daley, and some other ADP sorts, were sitting at the next booth up from her. Leon half-rose, drawing Linna's attention, and yelled to someone in the crowd. "Sanderson, you jackass! You nearly got me killed!"

The man who replied was easy to pick out, he was wearing a USSD uniform. That definitely made him stand out in the crowd here. "McNichol, if I'd known you were going to do something as stupid as strap into a Twelve-Shit, I'd have stayed on!" Twelve-Shit was the not-very-affectionate nickname the ADP had for their K-12S armored troopers. Linna thought something about the man's voice familiar.

He spoke with Leon briefly, and then sat down across from her. Linna's head came up to rebuke him, and she froze. He wasn't looking at her, really paying much attention at all, still talking to Leon over the booth dividers. His voice was even more familiar now. Add a hint of electronic distortion and...

He turned to regard Linna, steadily, a flicker of interest, but that was all. No hint of recognition. "Leon told me nobody was using this seat. I see he was wrong."

Not really handsome, Linna thought. He might be reasonably photogenic, but not that handsome in person. But he had strikingly, intensely blue eyes that added a touch of electricity to meeting his gaze. He was a dirty blond. She'd never pictured him as blond.

He started to stand. And as she'd always feared she do if she met K-11-2 face-to-face instead of faceplate-to-faceplate, Linna didn't let him walk away. "No. That seat's not taken at all. What's your name?"

"Micheal Sanderson." Linna tried to read the rank tabs off his uniform, but they didn't match the ADP or Self-Defense Force ones she'd actually recognize. She gave up when he forced her to consider other matters with a question: "And you are?"

Point of no return, Linna thought. This was stupid. She liked him, liked his look, liked his friendly manner, but this was all incredibly stupid and she was even more stupid for continuing despite being aware of that. Still. Her interest in him was _not_ romantic, she told herself, because that was even more stupid. _Not boyfriend material at all._

She still gave him her name. "Linna Yamazaki."

Nene slid into the booth as well, having been tipped off by Leon and still in her ADP work clothes. "Sanderson?"

"Romanova." Sanderson grinned. "Damn it's good to see you and the old gang again. You made master sergeant, about time!"

Nene shrugged. "It wasn't that big a deal."

He shook his head. "It should have happened years ago. I've had a lot of people on the other end of the radio, you're still one of the better ones."

Nene actually blushed. Sometimes it was easy to forget the playful hacker that Linna knew lived a whole other life as Master Sergeant Nene Romanova, Advanced Police, a life that she took at least as seriously as her life as Saber Pink. "And what is it you do?"

He shrugged. "Testing advanced armored trooper designs and weaponry for SSD." Both of the women noted the way he'd abbreviated the name, not USSD, but just SSD. "It's not all fun and games. They send me some real stinkers on occasion, and sometime I get mobilized to fight the local boomers. Have to keep a hand in and the knowledge current I guess."

"So about Fire Night..." Linna began, pretending not to notice the way that Nene looked at her for it.

Sanderson was quick to shake his head. "That night was all kinds of crazy. It's hard to explain to someone who wasn't there."

_Try me_, Linna thought. But she didn't say it. Despite his brief media stardom, and in his official reports, he'd never made mention of the presence of any Knight Sabers. As far as the rest of the world knew, his odyssey across the port district had been made alone. It was, Linna reluctantly admitted, not a great embellishment. She'd only taken down a few service boomers that were not actually a threat to either of them, with their respective armors.

Sanderson had been quiet for at least fifteen seconds, probably longer, but apparently he decided to make the attempt. "I didn't meet a single living human for over three hours. You know what this town is like, how utterly impossible that is. As far as I knew the town was over. I thought I was dead. I thought _everyone_ was dead. It was...very mechanical after that first hour."

_Mechanical. That's not a bad description. Mechanical, because thinking made your brain go numb. _Linna nodded, and restrained her urge to reach out and offer support by taking his hand. He'd made the world a darker place for himself, telling and having to live out the consequences of a story of mind-numbing horror. Even if it wasn't real, he'd made it real because that was the only way to make it believed.

To protect a secret she was responsible for. To allow them both to keep the fight going in their separate ways. _Great, now I'm feeling responsible. _Before she could do something else to make the situation worse, Leon and Daley both intruded on the conversation, and Linna could blend into the background and watch past and present ADP tell war stories.

And spend a little time getting to know the other Nene, the one in the uniform, because you could never tell when you might need to know such things.

* * *

><p>"In local news today, a boomer incident in Little Germany was contained by the ADP with unusual efficiency, assisted by USSD soldiers from the nearby Far East Command of that organization. The Diet has no comment on the intervention of outsiders, but the USSD spokeperson had this comment-" Sylia killed volume for the canned statement. She'd heard it a few minutes ago on a different channel.<p>

USSD hadn't been a player in the local power structure since before Largo. The organization had undergone serious house-cleaning and rebuilding after Largo managed to temporarily hijack the particle beam satellites, and then period of quiet that had lead most people to believe they were badly damaged by the event. Now, as she sat here and looked over information from her various contacts, she began to realize they might not have been.

First, and most worrisome, was the silence from within USSD itself. Far East Command might as well have been a black hole as far as information was concerned. Sylia knew that a large number of personnel, somewhere around one hundred, had been recently posted to the facility as group, but what they were doing there none of her contacts could discover. Even Fargo's sources had dried up or been transferred away. That meant they'd gone to some trouble to clean house, and that meant they were up to something.

She had noted, though, that a mission payment had been made to the Knight Sabers regarding the USSD black box they'd be meant to recover years ago, plus interest and bonus for tardy payment. The note the bank had been asked to pass on with it had expressed USSD's apologies and stated that with Largo destroyed the mission had been accomplished to their satisfaction.

A peace gesture, Sylia thought. Someone didn't want the Knight Sabers feeling unkindly towards USSD. Which made her more suspicious. Sylia was aware of the irony of that, but paranoia was a survival skill when you ran a team of high-tech vigilantes against the megacorps. USSD was flexing a little muscle; it was locking down its leaks; it was reaching out its enemies and trying to make new friends. Something was going on.

Nene could find out more. Or so Sylia hoped.

* * *

><p>Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow, steady, patient breathing, the sound of a hunter. It had been a long time since he'd been in a K-suit in this town. He felt oddly as though he'd never left, though the slow pulse of indicator lights on his heads-up display made it obvious this wasn't his first deployment all over again.<p>

The boomers, too, felt like home. A -55C rounded the corner ahead of him, a light went solid indicating the boomer had lock with its active sensors. "Gunslinger One, contact, going loud." The indicator lights went solid, ECM, Active Defense System, Active Sensors. A block-wide radius went blind to transmission and reception for most electronics.

The light that indicated targeting lock went dark. "All Gunslingers move in." The gun in his suit's hand bucked, but encased in his armor he heard no sound. Five rounds struck the boomer, tearing its chest to pieces.

K-11-2, now K-12Z-2 and Gunslinger 1, smiled under his helmet and moved in on the Genom satellite production facility. It was good to be home.


	9. A Night On The Street: Knight Sabers

**A Night On The Street: Knight Sabers**

"We missed them again." Nene said, sighing. She had one ear to ADP radio chatter, and it was reporting the escape of their targets.

"Maybe we should just try to hire them or something, we might have better luck." Linna muttered.

Sylia would have shot her a betrayed look, but she was flying the Knightwing. She'd been trying to confront the new group in town for the past three weeks. Instead, she had three weeks of frustration.

Corporate Megatokyo was in an uproar. There was an ongoing sabotage campaign, but who was running it and why was up in the air. They were very professional, leaving little behind but broken boomers, burning buildings, and grainy images of large armored troopers or small battlemovers painted red. It took them an average of less than five minutes to hit and vanish. Sylia wanted them gone. Megatokyo was hard enough to keep calm with just the usual lunatics.

But wanting wasn't going to make it so, and unless the Knight Sabers could actually come to grips with the newcomers, it wasn't going to happen. Then Nene's head snapped up. "Boomer incident being reported in Tinsel City."

* * *

><p><em>Why am I here?<em> Linna Yamazaki was currently lying on her back, looking up at a Megatokyo night sky so choked by light pollution that no stars were visible. Not because she wanted to, but being thrown around like a ragdoll was an occupational hazard of wearing what amounted to an armored catsuit and fighting insane biomechanical robots.

She wasn't Priss, eternally seeking revenge for lost loves and a life that had dead-ended against a wall of record companies that wouldn't dare hire her for fear of Genom. She wasn't Sylia, on a grand crusade to right wrongs done to a father long-dead and to redeem his works. She approved of both, in a way. Vengeance for her friend Irene who was killed because she knew the wrong man, a crusade to save the world from those who viewed people as resources to be expended. But here and now those thoughts seemed distant abstractions.

The ringing in her ears, the pain in her back and her left arm, the blinking warning lights for her hardsuit, those were very real. So was the knowledge that being Saber Green had made her a very rich woman, and she could have simply taken her money and left this mad crusade of five or six people against a megacorp, disappeared into the night and nobody would ever find her.

Linna levered herself partway up with her left arm before it started to bind up. She would again be having words with Sylia about the need for the suit joints to be both robust and mobile. Priss could bulldoze through people in close combat, but that wasn't Linna's skills or style. A heavy industrial boomer stood about twenty feet away, the pilot for her short flight.

Linna didn't give the boomer high marks for skill, still put off by the landing. She raised her right arm and shot it through the head with her laser several times, which was a bit too much of a grandstanding gesture for her her normally, but definitely made her feel better now. She followed that up with enough shots to the torso to kill it, then scrambled to her feet and walked over to kick the boomer for good measure.

"Feeling a little vindictive there?" Priss asked over their radio.

Linna spat out a string of curses in response, which silenced the singer from the improbable role reversal. None of the other Sabers spoke to her again for the rest of the night, aware of the anger that hovered about her like a visible aura. Sylia even commented on the joint issue, without directly addressing Linna, before Linna could raise it.

It was as if they were afraid. _Good. Let them be._

* * *

><p>Sylia was dismissing them for the night, with the note that Mackie would be returning soon from his schooling, but she noted that Linna didn't stand to leave. Nor did Linna say anything, so she waited until the others were gone and then turned back. "Linna?"<p>

"We're losing, aren't we?" Linna asked. "They're close to having rebuilt all the towers. Quincy apparently wasn't killed. And those things weren't even our work."

Sylia had always known this question would come. But she hadn't expected Linna to ask it.


	10. A Night On The Street: ADP

**A Night On The Street: ADP**

"Quiet evening." Leon observed. Most people assumed, from Leon's style of leadership and his actions, that he was a hard-core adrenaline junkie. This did him a considerable disservice. Leon jumped in and lead from the front because when you got down to it, he might get paid a good bit better than a JSDF lieutenant, but his role was not very different in terms of the objectives assigned and the tools given to accomplish them. A platoon leader's job was as much inspirational as it was tactical, and no ADP Incident Response Team commander who lead from behind was doing their job in Leon's opinion.

"There are ways to fix that." Daley replied, with a grin.

"Sorry, prefer not to have my balls ripped off by an irate girlfriend." Leon said.

Daley chuckled. "How is Priss?"

Leon shrugged. "Well as she gets." He exaggerated. Priss had been irritable, or at least more irritable than normal. Leon had known for years that Priss was Saber Blue, but had never told Priss, or Daley, or anyone. It made him...understanding, moreso than anyone else at least, when it came to her behavior. Leon wondered if it also made him a fool. "I'm just hoping we don't have to fight the Reds, still."

The Reds was the ADP nickname for the new group in town. Some people thought they might be some kind of Knight Sabers splinter or front group, others they were a corporate hit squad from Gulf & Bradley. All anyone could prove was a violent antipathy towards Genom, military-grade equipment, and machinelike precision. Best guess put them at between four to six small battlemovers or large armored troopers. They had hit non-Genom targets too, though not nearly so many, and there were rumors of their operating in China and the US as well.

Somebody had decided to fight a war on his home turf. Leon didn't mind that much, primarily because to his mind it didn't change anything. The war on the streets of Megatokyo had been going on as long as he'd been part of the ADP, possibly longer yet. Genom versus the world. He was a bit player, really, the peacekeeper, his role and mission strictly defined so that he couldn't actually stop the war. But he could limit the damage.

Leon grinned to himself. And unlike most people who were dismissed as ineffectual, he _could_ actually hurt those who had done so. It wouldn't be easy, of course, but Leon knew it could be done. That thought kept him going a lot.

He was not without friends, either. USSD had renegotiated the treaty that let them use Far East Command and keep it as extraterritorial. This version had included a clause about "responding to hostile acts within a twenty-kilometer radius" and whoever had signed the treaty hadn't paid enough attention to the wording. It was essentially a license to show up at any gunfight in Megatokyo. And though the Chief might rant and rave, Leon was glad to have the extra guns if he needed them.

Good people. Tough, well-armed, ready to pitch in. He'd been leery about them, they were military, but in the end his people were also military in all but name. And Leon knew that Sanderson at least could be trusted in much the same way that Leon trusted his sidearm.

The alarm rang.

* * *

><p>Leon shook his head. "Missed 'em again."<p>

Daley grimaced. "Thank god for that. Getting here on time wouldn't be fun."

Leon managed not to grimace, but inside he agreed. It wasn't that the crime scenes were particularly neat, since usually they weren't. When the Reds came they often seemed to leave nothing standing But the destruction was always sharply defined in limit, and the way they dismantled defenses like Boomers was often remarkably surgical. The Reds weren't uncontrolled about destroying things, they were thorough.

"Team Lead, Hornet Two, we have an aircraft inbound. No squawks." No ID code. That'd be the Knightwing, Leon and Daley both thought.

Leon pulled his radio off his hip. "Confirm it's the Sabers and then leave 'em alone." In all likelihood, even that wouldn't happen. The Knightwing was even more camera-shy than the Sabers' hardsuits and any ADP pilot who managed to get footage of it with his gun camera would have trouble buying his own beers for a week or two. Another aircraft had approached and gone away already, the USSD's own rapid-deployment VTOL, which had just passed overhead as they arrived. Leon had a standing call in with Sanderson regarding backup on Red incidents.

They'd done a little bit, mostly documenting the scene, when the usual asshole in a suit showed up and shooed them off. Leon grumbled. Daley was philosophical. Life went on.

* * *

><p>Getting there on time wasn't any fun, like Daley had thought.<p>

Leon McNichol had been reasonably sure he was going to die many times. And as the Red battlemover, he was sure it was a battlemover now since it moved in a way that the human body could not have replicated, turned towards him with weapons raised he was quite sure he was dead. He raised his sidearm and put all three rounds into the thing's visor, while rifle fire from his team washed over it. It didn't appear to care.

"Inspector. Go home." The mechanized voice was gravely, amplified over the gunfire. Then the red machine turned away again and moved off.

Flames and smoke. It was impossible to tell how many there were. Leon and his squad stumbled around, trying to interdict them at least a little, but they couldn't seem to do anything to the heavily armored machines. Their rifles and even the RPG they had simply weren't gutsy enough to bother the battlemovers, and the battlemovers appeared to be deliberately ignoring them.

Leon swore and pulled his people back to the APC, not surprised to see Daley's squad a step behind him. They stood in the lee of the armored carrier, peering around the side, watching the red-painted battlemovers went about their work, methodical and quick, while the flames roared around them. Daley's expression was unreadable. Leon was openly pissed off at being ignored, but glad to be alive.

Then the Sabers showed up. And the USSD troops. Both arrived by aircraft, and the Reds shot at them before they could deploy troops...and Leon watched, incredulously, as the Reds beat a jamming system that had defied the best efforts of the ADP and many, many Boomers. They actually hit the Knightwing, damaging it. The Knightwing reefed around in a tight turn and climbed, aborting its deployment run. But the USSD aircraft shot back with rocket pods and held its course into a deployment run, hatches opening to drop troops.

By the time the first USSD armored trooper hit the ground, the Reds were gone.


	11. A Night On The Street: USSD

**Night On The Street: USSD**

"Leon? It's Sanderson." He turned in place, a phone to one ear. "Yeah. I have UN business that needs taking care of in town in the next few days. There's a takedown involved. It's your turf, I'm not going to keep you out, but I need to know who's worth trusting and I've been out of the loop two years." USSD working uniform was of a style vaguely Germanic, sharply tailored, but the black material was interwoven with strands that caught the light at various angles and give the impression of a shifting field of stars as the wearer moved. "Can you come over to our place for awhile today or tonight? Seven thirty. Got it."

He looked up at his Master Sergeant. "You got that?" She nodded, and he smiled. "Good. I gotta talk to the colonel. Handle things down there."

* * *

><p>"Snazzy uniform, man." Leon said. "What's this about?"<p>

Sanderson smiled grimly. "The best and worst news you've had all week." He gestured to the elevator. "Right this way." They went, Leon noted, not to the top floor but not far from it, through a hall hung with paintings of various battle scenes.

"Colonel Andropov, may I present Inspector Leon McNichol." Sanderson said formally. The man behind the desk was already standing and wore the same uniform Sanderson did. "He's the best point of contact for Advanced Police business when you don't want the runaround."

"Sir." Leon wasn't a very formal person, but he could play at it well enough.

The colonel was, as his name suggested, a native Russian judging from the accent. "Inspector. We intend to arrest someone currently resident in this city for crimes we have jurisdiction in. But there may be fallout."

Leon glanced at Sanderson. "Who?"

"Special Assistant to the Chairman Saul Trump. Of Genom," the colonel replied.

Leon looked faintly queasy. "You're talking real big."

"Perhaps. Acting Captain?" The colonel nodded to Sanderson, who continued for him.

"About four months ago, a group of combat boomers hijacked a shipment of Chinese mainframe-class computers. They turned up here, where they've been used to try and brute-force our computer security. Unfortunately, the vulnerabilities they've been used to try to exploit aren't real and derailed the attempt into a make-believe version of our computer system." Sanderson smiled grimly. "We tracked it to a Genom-owned warehouse. Saul Trump is the only human member of Genom who visits the site. Most of the boomer staff is assigned to him for his discretionary use and has been for years. He's quite close to being able to issue a firing command to a weapons satellite...at least in the land of make-believe."

Leon closed his eyes a moment. Why, he wondered, weren't his hands shaking? They were discussing Genom having the ability to end the world. "So you're going to bust him."

"Once he gives the command." Sanderson agreed. "I know we could have talked to Todo about this, but..."

Leon nodded. "Not the new guy, he's in somebody's pocket. Most of the team leaders will be okay with it. Ryoko will back your play like she always did. But you need to worry about Genom. They'll fight hard to keep a Special Assistant out of jail and bury it."

The two USSD officers shared a look, and Sanderson gave a slight nod, then got one in return. "We don't expect Trump to survive very long, in all honesty. He stole Chinese hardware to do it and he used Russian satellite control station for the attempt. Both will kill him for the embarrassment, assuming Genom doesn't. We'll ship him off to Luna Two as fast as we can and he ought to be reasonably safe there. But Quincy wouldn't be smart to let us even manage to arrest him."

Leon got it at once. "You think Quincy is in on it."

Sanderson sighed and almost slumped forward. "Leon, don't tell anyone that. Seriously. It could get you killed. But yes, it's true. This isn't the first and we doubt it will be the last time Genom has tried to gain partial or total control of the orbital weapons network."

As Leon walked from the elevator towards the front door a few minutes later, he noticed his hands were shaking now. All the stuff he'd been doing since he signed on with the ADP was kiddy garbage compared to what he'd just seen. It was important still, especially to the people involved in it, but even they would recognize that this was more serious than they were.

Strangely, despite his shaking hands, he didn't regret knowing the world was a larger and much more scary place than he'd suspected.

* * *

><p>Sanderson sighed and resisted the urge to roll his neck. You couldn't, not inside a K-suit. It usually didn't matter, but sometimes it could be awkward. The K-12Z model he used now was better in the creature comforts regard than any previous suit, but that really meant that unlike the K-11 nobody got sick from the way the suit walked, and unlike the ADP's K-12S you could take a sip of water when you got thirsty.<p>

Which was actually a great improvement, one that he would have been pretty happy about in his days standing an Alert Five watch with the ADP. He grabbed the straw with his lips and sucked down some water, then hit his chin switch to turn the radio on. "Status?" It was eight-thirty, dark out, but he'd been in the suit for over two hours.

"He's still moving around town at random. No way to tell where." The voice would have launched a thousand ships; so probably would the owner, Master Sergeant Nara Rajanderpal, his senior non-commissioned officer. She was a looker if ever such a term applied to anyone, a striking woman of Indian descent. By design, however, and not in the plastic surgery sense. NR, as she preferred to be called, was a rogue 33-S Sexaroid who had made the leap planetside a year before the D.D. Battlemover incident. USSD had recovered her before anyone else. What Nara had known about what happened on Genaros was worth a new life, a normal life, in spite of being a Boomer. Her natural talent in an armored trooper, and she was perhaps the best K-suit jockey Sanderson had ever known, had been worth a job.

Funny that, and someday Sanderson wished to meet the person who'd made those decisions, shake their hand. It was an inspired and yet perfectly rational choice. NR was about as human as anyone he'd ever known, all too human hatreds and flaws. She had a foul temper, a fouler mouth, and a near-pathological desire to destroy Genom. Being able to play the asshole and being able to scream like the wrath of a deity were assets to someone pursing a sergeant's career track. And Sanderson did suspect that Nara's being an asshole was an act, a direct response to her looks influencing people in the opposite direction.

Sanderson hit the chin switch again and changed frequencies, to a phone patch. "Leon? Sanderson."

"Good timing." Leon's voice always made him feel better when he was wearing a K-suit, straight back to the ADP days. Leon had always had your back then, even if you were the one supposedly doing the rescuing. "Power use just spiked at the place you asked about."

"Thanks man. Drinks are on me next time we get together. Talk to you later." Again the switch frequencies and hit the chin switch for voice-activated transmission. "We're live. Stand to." The plane had been in the air for hours, tracing gentle circles out to sea. It banked hard this time, and acceleration pressed down on his chest.

"Our target is Saul Trump. Yes, that Saul Trump. We want him alive. Put the Boomers in the ground. Any humans we give them one warning and we shoot if they don't comply straight away." They didn't expect any humans, there had never been any on the site aside from Saul before, but Sanderson was paid to plan for the bad possibilities.

Nara's voice in his ear. "He just walked in, he's giving commands to four satellites. Oceanic targets. Probably freighters. Firing time in two hours. It's all recorded and backing up five different ways as we speak."

Sanderson nodded to himself and spoke to his team. "Saul Trump just tried to access and use a weapons satellite. We bring him in alive, remember that. Forty seconds to drop people."

Thirty seconds to target. Lasers to preheat.

Twenty seconds to target. ECM and ECCM gear from off to standby.

Ten seconds to target. Master arm to ON. A round loaded into the chamber in his main weapon. The shutters over the laser lenses cycled open and shut in a test. The rockets in the shoulders reported green, ready to fire.

Freefall. The kick to the pants as the thrusters worked to arrest his descent, the ECM and ECCM flashing green as they cycled active. Megatokyo Air Traffic Control would throw a fit about this; he'd probably blotted them out for a kilometer or two. Civilian equipment didn't handle sophisticated jamming gear well.

Two police-model Boomers at the door turned to track him. A laser from one of the other suits sliced into one, deep into the torso and probably severing both the spine and doing terminal damage to the power system. He fired a single round from his hand weapon at the other and tore its head off in spray of metallic shrapnel. The round went off between the Boomer's head and the building wall after having passed through the target, adding more shrapnel to the air, the fuze on the armor-piercing round designed for more resistance than it had gotten. Good thing this was a dead-end street and nobody came back here.

The landing was rough, they always were, you never wanted to slow down enough in the fall for a smooth landing lest you become an easy target.

It took them very little time to overwhelm the police and service boomers, who were totally unequipped and unprepared for an assault team of K-suits. Then the two -55C bodyguards with Saul went down, sliced open by lasers. The man himself actually had gun, which got a raised eyebrow; first, that someone in his position was willing to sully their hands with a weapon, and second that he had enough guts to pull a gun on a K-suit.

Still, it wasn't like the pistol was going to be able to handle Saul's problems now. Switch to external speaker, volume up, and...

"_Drop the weapon and get down on the ground!"_

Saul Trump clapped his hands to his ears in pain, dropping his gun in the process. Before the ringing went away he found himself lifted from his feet none too gently by the mobile mountain of metal that had confronted him. "Saul Trump," the voice went on in a less harsh and metallic tone, at a volume he could actually understand, "under Article Seven of the United Nations Space Defense Treaty you are charged with four counts attempted use of a weapon of mass destruction, four counts of tampering with a weapons satellite, and unlawful access of United Nations Strategic Space Defense secrets. And I hear the N-Police will be pretty interested in where you got those mainframes."

There were another three of the metal mountains clustered around him in addition to the one that had him in its hand. "You'll be coming with us."

* * *

><p>"Hey, what's that?" It was eight hours after the event, but news traveled slowly when everyone was asleep.<p>

Linna looked over from her pre-work coffee as a coworker turned up the volume on the TV they had in the break room. The talking head was showing the ADP at a crime scene, some warehouse, but in the background were K-12 suits of some variety she'd never seen before, not S, but related, with more human arms and hands, K-11 flight gear scaled up a bit, no ammo drums on the shoulders, some kind of tube assembly instead...maybe rockets or something. The part of her that was Saber Green cataloged the differences for future reference.

"In a shocking turn of events, United Nations Strategic Space Defense troops staged a raid on a Genom warehouse, arresting Special Assistant to the Chairman Saul Trump. They have said only that he is charged with 'serious crimes against the people of Earth' and have refused to elaborate on where he's being held."

"Oh shit." Linna muttered. Somebody was playing with fire.


	12. Battle Lines

**Battle Lines**

"Major boomer incident in progress, base of the tower." Leon shrugged at the announcement. Genom could handle it doubtless. Then came the next announcement. "Ready team mount up."

Leon swore. "Everybody that can shoot and move!" His phone speed-dial was already set to the number he'd been given to contact USSD's troops, and he hit it.

"Why the hell isn't the Tower Defense boomer group handling this?" Daley grumbled, grabbing a stomach rifle. If the tower defenses weren't handling it, odds are it was bad, or would go bad if Genom sent in its own boomers after the ADP got there.

"Fuck if I know." Leon replied, putting his phone to his ear. "Sanderson? We got a live one at the base of the tower. You up for pissing in Quincy's breakfast twice in a week?"

The response got a grin that was almost feral.

* * *

><p>"ADP Response Team is taking fire." This was the worst part of the normal armored trooper deployment. The time between when the first poor bastard stumbled into the fight and when you could exercise control over events. "Genom Tower Defense just painted us for fire-control."<p>

"Suppress 'em." Sanderson replied. "Don't be gentle if they don't take the hint."

"Roger." Genom had good defenses on the tower, good gear; not top-of-the-line military, because that would have raised too many questions. But the transporter _did_ have top-quality military gear, some of which could permanently blind those not smart enough to take the hint. "Thirty seconds out. ADP lifter is twenty seconds behind us. Intermittent contact at two klicks doing racetracks."

So the Sabers were already here or still deciding if they wanted a part of this. _Stay out. This isn't going to end well._ "Check your targets. Friendlies in the combat zone. Don't go far Lifter, we might need fire support."

Freefall as the hatch opens.

* * *

><p>"New callsigns popping up on the ADP net." Nene said. "Able Zulu. That must be USSD." Linna was listening in as well, though she didn't make it obvious. It had sounded bad for several minutes, but the arrival of heavy firepower seemed to be stabilizing the situation.<p>

Which is good. Relationships between the ADP and Knight Sabers were never close despite some personal links. And there had been fire exchanged in the past. Only god knows how USSD will react to them. Then she heard the report of Tower Defense Boomers moving from their stations.

* * *

><p><em>Fight the immediate threat.<em> It was a lesson drilled into most people, from tank drivers to fighter pilots. Fight the thing posing the greatest danger to your life at that instant. You can't fight every threat, all the time. Combat is too confusing and human situational awareness is not sufficient for fighting more than a small number of threats at once. So only try to fight the most immediate one. Just keep track of the others. You'll know more about what's happening.

At this moment, the most immediate threat is a BU-12 with delusions that it can hit a target it can't see. It has eyes, of course, but they don't work anymore. The Active Defense System is in Special Automatic Mode B, busily directing laser beams at the eyes of anything Boomer within a couple hundred meters when it's not engaging projectiles it thinks will hit his suit. Between the ECMs of six K-12Z suits, the Boomers, and the ADP's eight K-12s, it's a wonder anyone can manage to use the radio at all, much less targeting radar. The BU-12 is lashing out undirected, and he pumps more laser fire into it. It's badly damaged, but still fighting, and he hasn't gotten the magic hit that'll pop its processors or power system yet.

The tower's defense Boomers are coming down, too. "Sam B off," he warns. No reason to provoke a fight and...

One of the new ADP kids he doesn't know, K-12-12, takes a BU-12 railgun round through the left arm. A K-12 can't stand up to that kind of punishment. Even his K-12Z couldn't do it under most circumstances. 12-12 is lucky, in that the projectile is a clean through and through rather than bouncing around inside the armor and shredding him. Doesn't change the fact he's got very little time to live. Even with his interface suit automatically forming a tourniquet and the K-12 dispensing coagulants and painkillers, the kid has fifteen minutes to get real medical attention or he's dead.

But what really catches K-12Z-2's attention is the possible shot trajectory. Years of combat have taught him to judge such things. It came from the tower group. Moments later, the Active Defense System vaporizes another railgun round that was headed for him and paints a red box around a Tower Defense BU-12 as the source._"ABLE ZULU! PLAN B, TOWER BOOMERS!"_

K-12Z-2 comes around and ripples his shoulder launchers into the Tower Defense force, the lasers in both arms flaring to life at a rapid pulse rate and the 30mm cannon spewing forth twenty rounds. The other K-12Zs are doing the same. Plan B is an immediate reaction drill, putting all available firepower on a target for a few seconds to make it flinch and buy some time. Boomers don't intimidate like people, but they do react to threat level unless they're legitimately losing their shit. The effect is much the same. "All Alphas, retrograde from the Tower. Zulu rearguard. ADP grab 12-12. Lifter, we've got a priority evac case to ADP Headquarters." He designates a nearby street and sends it to Lifter. "Break the rules if you have to. Assume LZ is hot."

"What the FUCK?" Leon demanded over the radio.

"The Tower Defense Boomers just started shooting," 12Z-2 replied, "so we're shooting back. You got a cordon set up?"

"Block out." Leon said.

"I need a stop line. Heavy weapons." 12Z-2 said, while he blew the head off a Tower Defense BU-55. It went down, not moving. He was moving backwards at a walk.

"Can do."

* * *

><p>"Do we go?" Nene asked softly. If the Tower Defense Boomers were openly engaging ADP and USSD forces, something had gone terribly wrong. The city might be about to explode, and that first battle would be very important. Sylia's instinct is to say no. But she knows it's likely she'll have at least two Sabers mutiny if she has no. Priss will try to fight for Leon, and Nene for the ADP, though neither will admit their attachments run that deep.<p>

"We go." Sylia says. Linna opens the ramp, being closest, and jumps.

It looks bad; looks like a conception of hell, though not so much as Fire Night did. A lot of flames, and smoke. Railgun shells and tracers criss-cross as the Boomers and the USSD/ADP armored troopers fight. The cops and soldiers are falling back, but she knows they're giving ground as part of some plan.

And Linna Yamazaki is startled to realize, as she freefalls for a few moments before her suit's jets kick in to slow her descent, that she feels _alive._


	13. Second Contact

**Second Contact**

"Saber Lead, Zulu Two. You here to dance solo or with partners?" An oblique reference to command and coordination on an open frequency from the USSD suits. Sylia didn't reply. Jumping directly into the firefight would be suicide. There was no meaningful cover out there with the weapons being used and they didn't have the armor to play that game.

"Take the alley and get concealed." Sylia said to her subordinates. She needed to decide how best to approach this situation.

* * *

><p>In a moment of clarity, Linna saw it laid out before her. She could jump there, hop, somersault, cut left... They could not stop her. Half a dozen Boomers down. It would cut the heart of the Tower Defense BU-12s. She lit her jets, ignoring the reprimand from Sylia.<p>

* * *

><p>Green had to be crazy, leaping out like that, and yet-<p>

Her arms lashed out, nanocutters slicing through one Boomer, leaping over it, landing lightly, arms out, pumping a burst of laserfire into another, literally using it as a pommel horse, igniting her jets to blast another in the face with the exhaust, cutting left around a charging one and hamstringing it. Impossible grace, belonging to an Olympic gymnast and not a suit of armor as she tore through the main force of the attacking Tower Defense group.

God help him, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Able Zulu! Clean up what the lady drops!" His K-12Z shifted from the backpedaling motion as his team covered the retreat of of the ADP suits into a forward charge, going from defense to offense, and the 30mm cannon hammered a Boomer flat with AP rounds.

* * *

><p>"Linna you crazy bitch!" Priss swore over the radio.<p>

Linna dodged aside to avoid a BU-55 and gave it a dose of lasers into the back that caused it to collapse. She was _happy_ now, and her reply to Priss was filled with mocking laughter. "You coming, tough girl?" She performed a graceful turn on one ankle and ducked low, causing another Boomer's planned tackle to go wrong as it slid over her, and she stepped back and stomped on its head twice before giving it a brief burst of the suit jets, firing at yet another. It was suddenly all so simple, so easy; like dancing. Like breathing.

* * *

><p>The BU-12s were all dead by now. They'd tried to reorient to cope with Saber Green's attack only for the K-12Zs to take up the offensive, using the breathing room to set up their shots and instead of merely suppressing start killing.<p>

And a BU-55 was no match for a K-12Z. Sanderson backhanded one to the ground, something he would have been dead long before attempting in his ADP days, and killed it with the laser built into that arm. Nara's K-12Z was next to his, hammering away at a cluster of BU-55s with its cannon and both lasers, cutting them down. The Knight Sabers were rolling up the flank near them, belatedly joining Linna in her attack.

Had the Boomers been human, they could have been said to show the finest human courage and contempt for the odds. Instead they kept fighting because they didn't know how to surrender to save themselves. He kept hammering, kept killing targets. Another thirty seconds later and the last one slumped over, spilling metallic debris across the ground. "Cease fire!" he called on speakers, over the sound of one last cannon burst from another of the K-12Zs.

Less than ten meters away was a hardsuit. Saber Blue, in fact. He switched to radio, the frequency used by his team only. "No sudden movements," he breathed. "Let's not provoke them." As far as he knew, this was the closest _anyone_ had ever been to an armored Knight Saber. They couldn't like this; his suit was within thirty meters of all four of them, which was about seventy meters closer than any ADP K-suit had gotten during his time on the force. The Knight Sabers didn't like letting people near them, didn't like being recorded. And K-suits were always recording. "Leave your electronics in their current modes. Cannon down."

* * *

><p>"They're talking among themselves." Nene said nervously. "I can't crack their encryption."<p>

Sylia was about as nervous as Nene sounded. She was proud, very proud, she had never lost a Knight Saber. If the USSD armored troopers went hostile now, if someone on either side felt a little threatened and fired...Sylia believed in her people and her hardsuits. She thought they could do anything, but only if they were given the chance to dictate how the battle was fought. Under these circumstances, bloodbath was probably a good description. "Take it easy," despite her nervousness, her tone was calm, cool. "They're probably as spooked as we are."

"They're not looking too spooked." Priss sounded uneasy, and her arms turned towards the dark gray suit nearest her, with the UN/USSD crest on one shoulder and the marking 12Z-2 on the other.

* * *

><p><em>Fuck, don't do it Blue. <em>"Weapons tight," Sanderson said softly over the ADP frequency. "Able Zulu, weapons tight. The Sabers are not a valid target. Individual acknowledgment. _Now_."

"Zulu Three. Acknowledged." "Zulu Four, acknowledged." "Zulu Five-"

* * *

><p>"Their commander just told them to stand down." Nene said, relieved.<p>

"Let's go." Sylia replied tersely.

* * *

><p>They didn't even feel like talking...well, one last thing to do. A bit of quick electronics work gave him the frequency the Sabers talked to each other on. "Guess that makes us even, Saber Green."<p>

The way that the Sabers froze momentarily as they turned to escape told him he'd been heard. Yet they didn't stay that way long. He hadn't expected an answer really, but he was still disappointed. Part of his mandate for being in town was to reach out and make friends with local forces. The Knight Sabers were local and a force.

"You were missed, Eleven-Two." The voice was not the distorted and unidentifible mess that the Knight Sabers used when they had to converse with anyone else normally, but clearly female, shot through with both mischief and warmth.

His eyes widened under his helmet.


	14. Glimpse Beyond The Edge

Priss being unexpectedly literary. Though I don't think my English profs would have counted _Neuromancer_ as literary, I certainly do.

**Glimpse Beyond The Edge**

Priss glared at her bookcase, listening to the sound of rain on her trailer's roof. Nene would have been shocked to know Priss had a bookcase, and even more shocked to know Priss actually read books. But references to Little Miss Cyberpunk did not form from nothing.

"The sky over the port was the color of a television, tuned to a dead channel." Priss mumbled. She mentally debated whether she was drunk enough, or sober enough, to be considering the confluence of fiction and reality. Probably neither. Probably needed to be drunk as a skunk and stone-cold sober both. At the same time, just to fuck with her.

A knock on get door drew her attention. Priss lived in rough part of town, which was why the inside of her trailer was lined with armor under the cheap faux-wood paneling and why she always kept a pistol close. It used to be just the pistol, and the pistol hadn't been as nice, but Knight Sabers money had changed that.

She opened her door. The gun was tucked behind it in a spot that wouldn't resist the anti-boomer bullets. Her visitor was a woman, and it took Priss a moment to recognize her as Linna, who was really slumming its in those clothes and had dirtied up her hair to fit in with the crowd here. "Damn, Linna, decided to move downtown?"

"Didn't feel like being memorable this trip. Or getting mugged. We need to talk." Linna replied.

"Yeah, we do." Priss' agreement was swift. "Since Sylia hasn't flayed you for that stunt you pulled." She opened the door enough to let Linna in. "Just toss the jacket anywhere," she ordered, while also tucking her pistol into her waistband.

"Nice strap." Priss observed. Linna was packing the same pistol she did.

"Then so's yours." Linna observed humorously. "You heard anything from our Glorious Leader?"

Priss shook her head. "The fuck's gotten into you, Linna? You were the good girl of the group."

"Let's just say I've been thinking about going pro." Linna replied. "This weekend warrior stuff isn't doing it for me anymore. But that's not why I'm here. I'm worried about Sylia."

"You ought to be. I'm pretty sure she'll kill you for-"

"Not like that. At this point I think she's either missed it or ignoring it. Besides, I'm not worried about Sylia killing me. I'm worried about Sylia killing _us._" Linna's tone was serious, but Priss wasn't sure whether it was _meant_ seriously. Priss had a habit of stepping on Sylia's toes. She had a habit of stepping on everyone's toes. But she couldn't think of anything she'd done recently.

Finally, Priss ventured to speak. "What do you mean?"

"Sylia Stingray has invested pretty much her whole life in being Quincy's arch-nemesis." Linna observed neutrally. "It's her self-image. It's her pride and her one true joy. And now...she's not."

"Sylia's a big girl." Priss said softly. This was a dangerous road. She could sense it, even if she didn't know quite why.

"Priss...remember what she told us about the data tape?" Linna asked. "It was her father's insurance policy against his death, right? It rewired her brain, right?"

Priss stared in horror. "No. You're kidding."

"Priss, I didn't care before because she hadn't done anything that I thought was going to hurt the cause. You're in this for the bloody vengeance, and there are days where I am too. As long as Sylia was doing everything as right as she could, I wasn't worried. She'd rein us in. But now I'm stuck with the possibility she won't. Now I'm stuck with possibility she'll do something stupid." Linna shuddered. "It _rewired her brain_, Priss. Sylia's smart. She's canny. But she straight told us that. Does that sound like the Sylia Stingray you know? Brazen it out, hope no one notices? This would have occurred to one of us eventually and she should have know that. And if she knew that it wasn't smart of her to tell us."

"No." Priss wasn't sure if that was a specific or a general denial. And her voice sounded very small to her ears.

"Sylia just blithely telling us something that could mean she might not actually be able to use her brain in this. Sylia maybe molded into a personal instrument of vengeance by her father." Linna whispered. "Sylia didn't want to get into that fight, Priss. We both know that could have been _the _fight, the one that goes all the way. She didn't want it, and I don't know if she was keeping us out of the flying DU and tungsten because we couldn't take it...or because if that was _the_ fight and Quincy got pitched out his window, it wouldn't be her doing. And even if the first was true, what if the second was working her subconscious to make her look for reasons?"

"Quincy's shriveled prick, I wish your brain didn't work as well as it does." Priss got up and retrieved a couple of beers. "You want one?"

"Yeah." Linna huddled around the cold beer and drained half it in one go, looking shaken. "This is scary stuff, Priss. I don't _like_ thinking these thoughts. But it's not something I can take the risk on, you know? People I care about die if I decide this is too crazy to be true and I'm wrong."

"Shit, Linna. We'd be lucky if the dying stopped at people you cared about." Priss likewise downed half her beer in a single pull. "What do we do about it?"


End file.
